It's been two years since Darian Snow ran away from Winterfell, leaving behind the life of a Stark bastard in search of something greater. Since then, he's woven himself into the shadows of Westeros, a shadow rising in the south, far from the cold walls of Winterfell. Now, in the heart of King's Landing, the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, Darian watches and waits. The time for his rebellion is not yet—he needs the continent to spiral into chaos, the cracks in the realm to deepen until they can no longer hold. Then, he will strike.
The Sons of Westeros, his organization, has grown from a ragtag group of lowborn rebels into an underground force to be reckoned with. Thousands of men and women, many of them former soldiers, peasants, and criminals, now swear loyalty to Darian and his cause. He has spent these two years quietly building an army in the shadows. The Sons are now known across the land—not for their name but for their actions.
Darian walks through the darkened streets of King's Landing at night, the weight of his decisions heavy on his shoulders. The people know him here, or at least, they know his organization. He and his followers have raided noble estates, stealing food and gold, redistributing them to the smallfolk—those suffering under the weight of the nobles' cruelty. The peasants, the laborers, the outcasts—these are his people now.
He thinks back to the days of recruitment. At first, it was slow. There were only whispers in the taverns and marketplaces, rumors of a man who gave the poor hope, of a force that was willing to fight for justice and change. Darian had started with a handful of loyal men, working as a mercenary to gather gold, and as a merchant to smuggle supplies. The gold from raids and stolen treasures funded his efforts, and the people began to notice. Slowly, the Sons of Westeros grew, built on a promise: to overthrow the old order of kings and nobles, to give the people the power to shape their own future.
Training was vital. Darian wasn't just recruiting men to fight; he was teaching them to be soldiers, to stand tall against knights and lords. He worked tirelessly to train the smallfolk, to teach them to use weapons and tactics, to show them that they could be more than mere laborers and serfs. They were strong, capable, and they would rise. With every passing day, Darian's army grew stronger.
But Darian isn't foolish. He knows that timing is everything. The kingdom is ripe for rebellion. The death of Jon Arryn, the King's Hand, has left a void. The Targaryen siblings, Daenerys and Viserys, have been exiled in the East, but there are whispers of their return. The lords of Westeros are distracted, too busy with their own struggles. It's the perfect time to strike—when the crown is weak, when war is on the horizon. He will tear down the nobility and seize power, but not yet. Not until the realm is ready to burn.
POV: VARYS, THE SPIDER
Varys sits in his chambers in the Red Keep, his fingers intertwined, his eyes half-lidded in thought. He has heard the rumors, as he always does. Whispers in the alleys, secret conversations in the taverns, and hushed tones in the brothels. The Sons of Westeros—an uprising of lowborn rebels, led by a man named Darian Snow, who now calls himself "The Red Wolf." It's not a coincidence that Varys hears of these things. He always knows what happens in the shadows.
"Another raid in the Riverlands," Varys murmurs to himself, running his fingers over the maps on his desk. "Food and gold taken, redistributed to the peasants. Minor lords dead—those who have been especially cruel." He smiles, a cold, calculating smile. "A man who knows how to use the common people's anger."
Varys has no love for the highborn of Westeros, but he also understands the necessity of order. If a rebellion grows too powerful, it risks plunging the realm into chaos. And chaos is not something Varys likes to see. Not without his hand in it.
He makes a mental note to investigate further. The death of Jon Arryn has already weakened the realm. If Darian Snow and his Sons are allowed to grow unchecked, it could lead to a much larger conflict. Varys, ever the manipulator, will keep a close eye on this rising figure. Perhaps he can use him—or destroy him.
POV: LITTLEFINGER, PETYR BAELISH
Petyr Baelish sits in the dimly lit room of his brothel, a glass of wine in hand. The news of the Sons of Westeros has made its way to him as well. He has heard whispers of the raids, of the destruction of those cruel minor lords, of the redistribution of wealth. It intrigues him. A rebellion, led by a man who has captured the common folk's hearts. A clever man, someone who knows how to stir the flames of revolt.
But Baelish is no fool. He knows what it takes to hold power, and Darian Snow, despite his charisma, does not yet have the means to take the throne. The realm is ripe for instability, and Petyr plans to use this to his advantage. He will not let a wild card like Darian Snow disrupt his plans.
He laughs softly to himself, swirling the wine in his glass. "A rebellion... how quaint. Let them play their game. I will make sure to be at the right place when the pieces fall."
POV: NED STARK
Ned Stark leans against the stone wall of Winterfell, staring into the fire. The news of the Sons of Westeros has reached him, and his heart is heavy. He's always believed in the Stark way—the way of honor, of strength, of loyalty to the North. But this rebellion, led by a bastard—Darian Snow—has caused him to question everything.
His thoughts turn to the boy he had raised under his roof, the boy who had once been a part of his family. Darian's rage, his drive to change the system, to burn everything down—it reminds Ned of his younger days, when he had fought in Robert's Rebellion. The world had been different then, but the seeds of unrest are the same. The North may not be directly involved yet, but the winds of change are coming.
The question nags at him: is Darian Snow truly the man to change the realm, or is he simply another rebel who will be crushed underfoot by the powers that be?
POV: TYWIN LANNISTER
Tywin Lannister sits at the head of the table in the Red Keep, his sharp eyes scanning the reports of the Sons of Westeros. The raids, the killings, the redistribution of wealth—all of it irks him. It's an affront to the established order of Westeros, to the authority of the highborn. Tywin believes in strength, in order, and in control.
"The common rabble is always prone to rebellion," Tywin mutters to his advisers, his voice cold and measured. "But they will be crushed. The Lannisters do not bow to such threats."
But even Tywin cannot ignore the threat posed by Darian Snow. His ability to rally the lowborn, his ability to inspire, is dangerous. Tywin makes a mental note to discuss this further with his family. For now, he will play the waiting game, but he will not allow this rebellion to grow unchecked.
POV: TYRION LANNISTER AND CERSEI LANNISTER
The long journey from King's Landing to Winterfell has been grueling, but Tyrion Lannister finds himself in high spirits despite the discomfort. His father, Tywin, had given him the task of accompanying King Robert Baratheon on his visit to the North—much to the displeasure of his sister, Cersei, who had only reluctantly agreed to the trip. The weather is cold and biting, a stark contrast to the warmth of the capital. But Tyrion is accustomed to the chill. What he's less accustomed to is the growing tension between him and his sister.
As they ride side by side, with the massive caravan of soldiers and attendants following behind, Tyrion can't help but glance over at Cersei, who's riding in silence. Her lips are pressed tight, her brow furrowed, as if she's holding something back.
Finally, unable to keep his thoughts to himself, Tyrion speaks, breaking the silence between them.
"Do you ever tire of brooding, Cersei?" he asks, his voice light, though there's a thread of seriousness beneath. "You'd think by now, you'd have mastered the art of pretending to be content."
She glances at him sharply, the icy blue of her eyes cutting through the cold air. Her lips curl into a slight, tight smile, but there's no humor in it. "And you, Tyrion," she replies with biting sarcasm. "Do you ever tire of playing the fool? Or is it simply more enjoyable for you than pretending to be anything else?"
He chuckles softly, though he knows his sister's venomous words are masking deeper concerns. "Fair enough. But this talk of the Sons of Westeros... it's unsettling, even for me. You've heard the rumors, haven't you?"
Cersei's expression darkens at the mention of the growing rebellion. She nods stiffly, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. "A bastard. Another lowborn rabble-rouser," she mutters, her voice laced with disdain. "Darian Snow, they call him. No one is supposed to rise from the muck like that. Not in Westeros. Not without paying for it."
Tyrion's gaze sharpens, sensing his sister's unease. "Oh, but he has risen, hasn't he? And now he's stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. Some might say that's what the people want—a Robin Hood of Westeros, if you will."
Cersei scoffs, the sound harsh in the stillness of the North. "And what of the nobles? The knights? Those who've sworn loyalty to the crown? If he continues down this path, there will be no one left to protect the realm. He'll destroy it."
"You're missing the point, Cersei," Tyrion replies, his tone turning more serious. "It's not the nobles who are threatened by him—it's the crown."
She turns to him sharply, " A bastard is not a threat to the crown"
Tyrion glances around, ensuring no one is within earshot, before leaning slightly toward her. "One bastard may not be a threat, but one backed by all of the small folk? The rebellion he leads is more than just plundering. It's a symbol. He's tapping into the rage of the common people, angered by the cruelty of those in power. And that—that—is something far more dangerous than any army of raiders. If Darian's followers grow in number, they'll soon have an army of their own. They'll rise up, and when they do, they won't stop until they've torn down everything. The crown will be their first target, and if we don't deal with him, it could all collapse."
Cersei's face hardens at his words, and she stares ahead, her lips pursed tightly. "And what would you have us do? Wait and watch? Send soldiers to hunt down every last peasant who dares to challenge our authority?"
"No," Tyrion says slowly, the idea taking shape in his mind. "But father wanted me to make you make sure that the king understands the gravity of the situation. If the crown doesn't act, it will be too late. We need to crush this rebellion before it grows beyond our control. And if the king won't do it, then it will be up to someone else."
Cersei raises an eyebrow, a cynical smile forming on her lips. "I suppose you're volunteering to take care of it, then? Always the strategist, Tyrion. But I think you're forgetting one small detail."
"And what's that?" he asks, genuinely curious.
Cersei's eyes glint with cold humor. "You're just a dwarf who, much like my husband, is content to drink himself into oblivion."
Tyrion pauses, then lets out a sigh. "Whatever you say, sister, just keep in mind that this Darian Snow and his Sons of Westeros. They're tearing at the very foundation of our world. The peasants aren't stupid. They can see that their lives are worth nothing in the eyes of the crown. Darian may not have the power to take the throne, but if he continues to stir the pot, it won't be long before the realm erupts in flames."
Cersei glares at him, though there's a touch of unease in her gaze. "I won't let some bastard overthrow my son's birthright. Get out I'll make sure Robert hears about this. Also call Jaime."
Tyrion opens the carriage door and jumps out, wanting to say more but seeing the anger on her face he decides to find another carriage to drink.
Cersei on the other hand falls silent at his words, staring ahead with a tense frown. If Tyrion were here right nor he would see the worry on her face. She fears this rebellion, as she should. It could destroy everything they've worked for—their power, their control, their influence.The Sons of Westeros are not a threat to be ignored, and they may soon become the greatest challenge to the Lannisters' grip on the realm.